SuFin Family Chronicles
by glass-jars
Summary: I will start putting all of my SuFin stories in this, since I write about them a lot. For now it consists of "Amethyst All Over," "The Heat Makes Us Crazy," and "Christmas." But now they're in order! I really did write them backwards!
1. Amethyst All Over

There was never any shouting, nor any signs of violence. Nothing he could hear, or see. But the way Tino never said a word when he was with Ivan, the way he stood behind him and did anything asked of him…

The entire household was a little bit… off.

Ivan had a sweet smile, and seemed as if he wouldn't hurt a fly, but something was hiding behind those amethyst eyes of his. Something about the firmness of his grip, and Tino's absolute obedience, didn't sit right with Berwald.

The haunted look in Tino pretty periwinkle eyes screamed that something was wrong.

Something was not quite right in the Braginski household.

He could tell by the way the servants looked, too—scared and timid. They never said a word to Berwald other than the occasional, "Hello Mr. Oxenstierna," or "Goodbye Mr. Oxenstierna." The short one, Raivis (who looked no older than twelve,) sometimes spoke a little more, but never of anything significant. And he was always looking around him, eyes flicking back and forth, as if a monster would pop out and devour him whole. He shook like a leaf constantly.

Berwald worried for all of them. But most of all, he worried for Tino, who was scrawny and wide-eyed and silent. He was young, too. Younger than Berwald by a year or two.

Berwald didn't like it, but he continued to work on the renovation of Ivan's home because A) He could keep an eye on Tino and be certain he was still mostly okay, and B) Ivan paid a lot, and Berwald had a three year old to take care of. He needed a steady income, and daycare used up a lot of his funds. So he stayed on as Ivan Braginski's handyman and carpenter.

It was a crisp day in October. The long gravel driveway in front of the Braginski mansion was paved over with fallen red leaves, which Raivis and Toris were clearing away in the light of the early morning sun. Natalia was pruning the shrubbery.

Berwald walked slowly past them—they waved uncertainly—and went into the massive house. None of the lights were on, but there were so many windows it didn't matter. Berwald made his way up the stairs to the second floor, setting his toolbox by the banister. A door clicked open and he turned. It was Tino, clad in only his underwear and a buttoned shirt that covered his behind.

"'Lo." Berwald nodded at him with a frown, and blushed a little.

Tino flinched, and scampered off without a word. Berwald grimaced. He wasn't sure whether Tino was afraid of him because of Ivan, or if he was afraid of him because of his face. (It seemed as if everyone but Antonio was afraid of him for that reason…) Maybe both. Tino wasn't embarrassed because of his clothing (or lack thereof.) All of the workers in the manor had seen him in various states of pantslessness at one point or another, though he always wore a shirt.

Berwald sighed. It was probably his face that scared Tino off each time. He crouched in front of his toolbox and began to pick out what he'd need to stabilize some areas of the banister until he could replace them.

Tino looked around the room disinterestedly. It had been redecorated again—the windows were covered over with heavy velvet curtains of a color like purple tulips (so dark they were almost black) and the bed sheets were a greyish lavender with roses outlined in black all over in a delicate pattern. The rugs were the same color as Ivan's eyes, but less threatening.

Tino let his eyes drift to Ivan's broad white back, with its skin so scarred and pale but for where it was mottled pink around his neck. Tino frowned. He was afraid of Ivan (terribly afraid,) but even so, it troubled him to see those billionfold tiny scars and ropes of red all over the man's body. No one should have to be abused like that. And it had turned Ivan into the insecure, sadistic, mentally unstable, childlike Colossus that he was. And Tino feared him, but still could not bring himself to hate him.

Tino pressed a dainty fingertip to one long-healed cut, crinkling his eyebrows.

Ivan shifted, looking over his shoulder lazily, catching Tino's eye with a drowsy smile.

Tino half-smiled back. Ivan rolled over without a word and kissed Tino's forehead, and nudged him onto his back, nuzzling his neck. Tino squirmed, but didn't protest. Let his breath hitch in his throat and stared up at the sky-patterned ceiling as Ivan's hands wandered, cold and coarse.

Berwald found himself blushing ruby red, sitting on the stairs as he worked on repairing a hole in the top step. Usually he worked with his headphones clamped securely over his ears, but today he had forgotten, so he could hear most of what went on in the empty, still house. Everything on the second floor. _Everything_. He tried to distract himself with woodwork, but it was difficult. He ended up just covering his ears (pointless) and waiting for the air to grow silent once more, forehead pressed against his knees.

Berwald was sanding down some sharp corners on a banister he'd just replaced. (He did this habitually because he was used to child-proofing his work.) This was probably for the better, considering the amount of alcohol Ivan imbibed on a daily basis. He didn't want to be sued, should Braginski put his eye out on a handrail. Though, admittedly, the ridiculous image of Ivan tripping and hitting his face on a banister made Berwald chuckle darkly, just a little.

It was a sinister sounding chuckle, and Raivis—who was bringing dinner to his master—jumped and ran the rest of the way to Ivan's chambers. Berwald frowned after the young boy and shook his head. Raivis was so skittish. Berwald wondered what he had gone through to make him so nervous. He often looked more afraid than Tino—and everyone else, for that matter.

Compared to the others, Berwald realized, Tino was almost relaxed. (Just not around Berwald.) He was obviously Ivan's current favorite. Who knew for how long, though.

Berwald turned his eyes back to his sandpaper and continued to smooth off potentially dangerous corners, listening to "In the Hall of the Mountain King" loudly, having remembered his headphones that day.

Tino frowned softly, prodding tenderly at a bruise forming on his shoulder. He grimaced. It hurt. He sighed as he stepped into the shower, turning his face to the onslaught of hot water. Sometimes Ivan was too rough… And it was hard to tell, when he hurt people, whether he did it on purpose, or whether he did so accidentally. (There were plenty of examples of both.)

The water felt soothing on Tino's perpetually chilled, sore body. He wished he could live in the shower or a sauna, but sadly, that was not possible. He half-smiled to himself, wistful.

Berwald swung his hammer experimentally, eyeing the spot. Ivan had called him into the bedroom to hang a shelf, and had then gone downstairs for a light snack. Berwald could hear the shower running in the adjacent bathroom. He set the hammer on the bed and went to work measuring and marking out where the shelf would sit.

Tino heard a steady thud from outside the bathroom, as he stood in front of the radiator drying himself off with a soft purple towel. He smiled unconsciously at the sound. Berwald must have finally been hanging the shelf—rather, Ivan must have finally asked him to.

Tino was pulling on his underpants when he heard a solid thunk and a muffled oath. He gasped, "Berwald!" He threw open the bathroom door, forgetting about covering his body—his bruises—in his worry, and rushed into the room. Berwald was sitting on the floor with his legs up, forehead pressed against his knees. He was holding his left hand tightly, shoulders hunched, and there were a few small holes in the wall.

"B- Ber!"

Berwald looked up, scowling in pain—he'd smashed his finger with the hammer and dropped the shelf. He could kick himself! Tino was worrying over such a small thing! "I'm fine. Jes hammered m'self…" He could not make his voice work properly, suddenly. A flush stole across his cheeks. He'd seen Tino half-clothed before but… always in at least a shirt. He felt ashamed now, seeing him in nothing but his briefs. He cleared his throat. Then noticed the splotches of faded color that decorated Tino's porcelain skin all over his shoulders and chest and hips and arms, reddish and greenish and bluish purple blobs all over…

"Ti…" He looked away, standing.

"You're alright, though…?" Tino bit his lip nervously, his eyes full of concern.

Berwald grimace. "'M alright…" He stared at the carpet.

"Oh dear, we seem to have had an accident!"

Berwald's head whipped up. Tino stiffened, eyes suddenly round like a deer in the headlamps of a truck.

Ivan grinned sweetly. He held a cookie in one hand, and it cracked slowly as he lowered his arm, dripping crumbs to the floor. Ivan seemed normal, but something in his face was dark.

"I- Ivan!" Tino realized he was nearly naked with a start, and grabbed a royal purple robe from the floor, pulling it about his shoulders quickly, hiding his mottle skin from the light. He kept his eyes averted. He trembled slightly.

Ivan continued to smile. "What happened?"

"I heard a loud noise, Ivan, and I wasn't really dressed but I was worried and it turns out Mr. Berwald just hit his hand with the hammer and subsequently dropped the shelf, sir!" Tino's voice shook. Berwald looked out the corner of his eye, concerned. Evidently, the young man—you could almost call him a boy—was scared stiff. Berwald glared worriedly.

Ivan let the cookie—all but pulverized now—fall to the floor in a shower of chocolate pieces. He approached Tino very deliberately, brushing the crumbs from his thick leather gloves. He reached out, softly touching his fingertips to Tino's cheek, then lowered his hand. Tino dared to finally meet his eyes, hopeful.

The back of Ivan's hand connected explosively with Tino's jaw, and Tino's head whipped violently to the side. Tears of pain brimmed over in his eyes as he put a hand to his face, sinking to his knees. He bowed his head, and, after a moment's stunned silence, he sobbed.

Berwald forgot how to breathe for several seconds, swallowing tensely. He watched as Ivan turned and opened the bedroom doors to leave. Berwald's hands shook angrily. He wanted to tackle that man to the ground and beat his ass.

The second Ivan was out of the room Berwald was at Tino's side. He pulled Tino's hand gently from his face, and tilted the teenaged boy's chin up to look him in the eye. He wiped the tears from Tino's cheeks and growled, "Y'alright?"

Tino looked, confused, at Berwald's so clearly worried face, swimming though the tears. He could feel the large man's fingers tremble. He licked his lips and more tears came to his eyes as he let himself slide vulnerably into Berwald's strong arms. He cried silently and Berwald rubbed his back. His jaw burned. There was definitely going to be a bruise.

The floor creaked and Berwald looked up to see Ivan returning. He didn't close the door behind him, only stepped in and said, "You should probably leave now, Mr. Oxenstierna," caressing the shiny black riding crop he held firmly in his hand.

Berwald felt the blood drain from his face. He tightened his hold on Tino as the boy whimpered fearfully.

The grin on Ivan's face was absolutely deranged.

"…won't leave." Berwald murmured, pulling Tino onto his lap.

"What?"

"I won't leave." Berwald spoke loudly, his voice heavy and hoarse with fear and anger.

"Well, aren't _we_ heroic?" Ivan stepped slowly closer, pulling the door shut behind him, and locking it with a sinister click.

Berwald felt sick to his stomach. From the minute the first blow fell he had put up a fight, but Ivan had a lower center of gravity and more mass to throw around, and now Berwald was face-down on the floor, his hands tied behind his back, two of his fingers broken. The blood on the back of his head was matting in his hair. (Ivan was vicious with his riding crop.)

Berwald turned his head and pain shot through his skull. He groaned. "Tino…"

Ivan stood over Tino, who was unconscious on the floor under his heavy boot. A small pool of blood had formed around the young Finn's face. Berwald prayed that it was only from his broken nose, and that he didn't have a fracture skull.

Ivan giggled softly to himself. "Silly little boys…" He crouched down, removing his foot from Tino's head, and rolled the young man onto his back. Tino whined weakly.

Berwald sighed. The boy was alive, then. Thank God. He creased his brow as another burst of pain shot through his head.

Ivan kissed Tino gently, letting the crop slide from his fingers. He stood, then, and strode to the doors. He left and locked the doors behind him.

Tino blinked awake. He squirmed and sat up. He clutched at the ground as his head spun sickeningly. He groaned, and put a hand to his nose. He swore. He needed to set his nose or it would heal wrong. He bit his lip and focused on breathing steadily through his mouth as the room grew still around him. He looked around and gasped, "Ber!" He crawled to Berwald's side. "Ber, wake up!" He shook the Swede frantically.

Berwald's breath hitched as he regained consciousness, and he groaned. He opened his eyes blearily. It was dark, but he could see Tino's bloodied, worried face just centimeters away. He tried to reach out to him, and was painfully reminded that his hands were tied up. "Tino…" He tried to smile. He succeeded only in grimacing.

"Ber!" Tino straightened. "Hang on, I'll untie you!" His hand went to work quickly and skillfully, and he had Berwald free in a matter of seconds.

Berwald rolled onto his back with a pained moan. "Fuck…" He scowled, and reached up with his good hand to rub his temple. The other hand he let lie, afraid of the pain he would receive should he move his fingers wrong. "You okay?"

Tino frowned. "Mostly. Can you stand? We need to fix you up a little bit…" He pulled Berwald into a sitting position.

"Think so…" Berwald closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to stand up. He regretted it immediately—the entire room whirled about him and his legs gave way. Tino managed to keep him from doing a face plant, and held him up in a sitting position.

"Perhaps we should crawl to the bathroom…" Tino tried to sound cheerful. It didn't really work.

Berwald grunted in agreement.

Tino sat on the toilet, and Berwald knelt on the floor in front of him, facing away as the small Finn cleaned up the back of his head. He'd already set up temporary splints for his left pinky and ring fingers—they'd be good enough until Berwald could see a doctor.

Berwald hissed. The water stung on his cuts, but at least they were shallow. Of course, he lost his optimism when Tino daubed some alcohol onto them. He curled his toes up in his boots, glaring at the tiling. It sting awfully.

Tino smiled, trying not to laugh at the unexpectedly child-like side of Berwald's personality, and put a cool hand on the man's cheek. Berwald looked over his shoulder, tilting his head back to meet Tino's eyes. He was scowling, but his eyes were smiling a little. Then he frowned further.

"Yer nose'll heal wrong…" He shifted, pulling Tino's face close to his as he turned around. He placed his palms softly on Tino's cheeks, then, without further warning, grabbed his nose and pulled.

Tino yelped, hands flying to his face as tears sprang to his eyes. He slid to the floor. "J- jerk…" He sniffled, leaning into Berwald with blood still dripping slowly down his lip. "That hurt." He swallowed thickly, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.

Berwald rubbed his back apologetically. "It'll be fine. Jes be careful not to hit it on anything."

"That's not the point…" Tino settled into Berwald's arms with an irritated sigh.

Berwald smirked.

Tino was mostly cleaned up—his face wasn't covered in nose blood, at least. He lay asleep on the bed, and Berwald sat on a windowsill trying to think of ways to escape a second floor bedroom with blackberry and rose bushes growing wildly beneath the windows. He sighed heavily, glancing at his splinted fingers.

Then he remembered his tool box. He may not have had a key, but he had the feeling that a drill or a wood saw would be just as well. He checked his box. He had neither drill nor saw, but he did have a screwdriver. He pocketed it, and lay in the bed beside Tino as night fell. Now to wait for his chance.

The minute Ivan left the house (going to the market all day with Toris) Berwald was on his knees, twisting a screw out from the lowest door hinge.

Within the hour the double doors were leaning out of their frame precariously, held up by only two hinges on the left-hand side. He made quick work as Tino watched him nervously, and the doors finally fell to the floor with a loud bang.

Tino hefted his bag to his shoulder—holding a few changes of clothing (for both of them; he'd taken some of Ivan's) and about five hundred dollars worth of jewelry which he'd stolen from Ivan's safe after picking the lock.

They were downstairs in a flash. Before they headed for the door, Tino pulled Berwald into the kitchen, and they filled the bag the rest of the way full with a few bottles of water and a box of granola bars.

Then they heard the front doors boom open, and heard Ivan chatting with Toris.

"Shit!" He'd gotten home early… Tino ran to the side door, which led from the kitchen to the rose garden—it was locked and the key was nowhere in sight. He bit his lip as Ivan's giggling grew nearer.

Berwald took a breath, noting the onset of panic in Tino's eyes, and hurled himself at the door. The rusted hinges snapped under his weight and the door came flying onto the pathway. He grabbed Tino's wrist and pulled him into the bushes.

The voices ceased. Then, Toris said, "Oh my!" and Ivan said, "Hm…" Then Ivan bellowed, "RAIVIS! ARE THE GUESTS STILL IN THEIR ROOM?"

Tino stiffened, nestling himself closer to Berwald, heart beating fast. Berwald tightened his arms around Tino's bony frame wordlessly, pressing his lips to the top of his head as they heard slamming and shouting from inside the house.

Ivan was out the door immediately, scarf and coat billowing as he snapped his eyes furiously back and forth. "Oh Tinooooo…" his voice was deceptively sweet. His face deceptively kind…. But for the burning rage in his eyes.

Tino turned his head, burying his face in Berwald's neck fearfully. Berwald could feel him trembling violently, and squeezed his shoulder to reassure him.

For two hours they sat in the rose bush, surrounded by layered flowers of black purple, and the thick scent wafting from the petals. Eventually, as the sun was starting to descend from its high point in the sky, Ivan gave up and went inside.

Berwald slumped over Tino, who opened his eyes shakily. "Let's go." He kissed Tino's forehead and they began to crawl through the flowers and bushes, toward the line of trees that separated the Braginski estate from the road. Once in the forested strip, they dared to stand, and once they hit the road—steady and smooth—they ran.

The sun was setting, dying the clouds violet and scarlet and gold, when a building loomed into view. And another. And yet another. It was a small town—downtown. Tino straightened his clothes up, and took the sack of jewelry into a nearby pawnshop, and Berwald stood outside, waiting anxiously. But finally, they had four hundred dollars in cash. (It was a rather shady pawnshop…) They began to look for a hotel.

A seedy looking motel glowed out at them from the descending darkness, as what few streetlamps there were flickered on. They booked a room as quickly as possible—who knew what kinds of suspicious people frequented the area at night—and for only eighty dollars, had a single-bed room.

The bed was rickety, the lamp was going out, and the faucet in the bathroom dripped incessantly. But it was better than being mugged, or worse. It was better than being locked in Ivan's chambers.

Tino slipped out of his dusty clothes, into a simple t-shirt and shorts. He fished a dressing gown from the bag and handed it to Berwald, who peeled off his jeans and blood-encrusted shirt, and tied the robe loosely about his waist. It was a tad loose, but the length was near perfect. He switched the lamp off and sank into the bed beside Tino. Tino wrapped his soft, skinny arms around Berwald's midriff quietly, feeling vulnerable. Berwald returned the gesture and they fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

Tino woke up in a tangle of blankets and limbs, face pressed into Berwald's chest—the pain from his broken nose, smashed against Berwald's collarbone, was, in fact, what had woken him. It was six in the morning. He tenderly prodded his nose, wincing, then got up to use the bathroom. It was relatively clean, so he decided to take a short shower, to wash off the grime and the rest of the blood. After, he felt much cleaner and a little more relaxed. He dried his hair as best he could and slipped back into Berwald's arms, this time back to front to protect his poor nose.

Unconsciously, Berwald's arms (strong and firm) tightened comfortingly around Tino's slim waist. Tino sighed softly. He felt much safer than he ever had. He straightened the blankets over them, and snuggled against Berwald with a small smile. Berwald was not soft and squishy like Ivan, but he was a great deal less threatening.

Berwald blinked awake around ten in the morning, sore from running so much the day before. He felt Tino shift in his arms, and blushed. Their bodies were pressed together, warm and comfortable. He gave Tino an affectionate squeeze, and rolled out of the bed to clean himself up a bit.

They were out of the motel by eleven, and on a bus by noon now that they had money.

The bus was old and loud and foul-smelling, but it was transportation, and Tino slept for the entirety of the two-hour ride, leaning on Berwald's shoulder.

Tino yawned as they stepped off the bus. The sun was bright, but there was a nice breeze. He smiled. "It's been so long…" He closed his eyes with a peaceful sigh. Then he turned to Berwald.

"Ber, I have family here. So I'll stop imposing on you now." He took Berwald's hand and gave it a good-natured squeeze. "Go home, to your son. He's probably scared without you…"

Berwald frowned, and ruffled Tino's hair. "Seeya later…."

"Yeah. See you." Tino smiled.

Berwald kissed his forehead and turned away with a grimace, heading toward his home. Tino wiped his eyes (they were tearing up for some reason) and croaked, "Thank you so much," before walking down the sidewalk with a new lightness in his heart.

Berwald smiled to himself. "No problem…" he whispered. Of course, Tino couldn't hear him.

Lilacs were blooming everywhere, and he plucked a cluster from its branch to take home to Peter.

/end


	2. The Heat Makes Us Crazy

A/N: Set about a year before "Christmas." Also, I fixed a few typos.

It was warm, warm, warm. Tino was unused to this kind of a summer—usually it was a little cooler—so he was kind of… irritable. Even in light sandals and blue-green plaid capris and a dark brown tank top he was too warm. He stopped in the shade under a tall tree, setting down his groceries and tugging at Hana-Tamago's leash to stop her from running off, and pushed his hair back from his forehead with a sigh. He closed his eyes. The sun was bright.

Hana licked his toes cheerily, and though he pretended to be irritated he couldn't help but smile. It tickled too much to make him angry.

He looked down at her little black nose, raising an eyebrow. Then, "C'mon girl." They set off again. Tino hefted the grocery bag in his hand and frowned. His ice cream was going to melt if he didn't get home soon.

A young laugh shredded the air before them. Tino looked up, surprised. Then smiled. He was very near Berwald's house, and his friend stood outside watching his son Peter, who must've been five years old at the time. Peter was frolicking in the sprinkler, screeching and laughing with delight. Berwald stood in the shadows of his porch, observing, with a glass of chilled coffee in his hand. He was smiling very softly, a rare expression which made Tino go all wobbly in his stomach. Tino grinned to himself without realizing.

Then Hana-Tamago yipped excitedly, tugging her human over to the fence—for such a small dog she was pretty darn strong.

"Hana!" Tino tried to pull her back, but she dragged the leash from his hand and bounced through the open gate, into Berwald Oxenstierna's front yard.

Tino was horrified. He could feel his face heat up from embarrassment, and ran after his dog, who was now gallivanting with Peter through the sprinkler, tongue lolling to catch the water droplets. Tino stopped on the path, reluctant to get his groceries wet. "Hana, come back here!" He would never admit it, but he pouted at that moment.

Berwald watched all of this in amusement. The sight of Tino, standing there and pouting on his walkway, made him want to both laugh and blush. It was adorable. So he blushed deep red as he strode down the porch steps, and he held back a chuckle as he stepped into the grass. And he walked straight into a wave of water and was reduced to spluttering as he removed his glasses, wiping his eyes as more water rained down upon him.

Behind him he heard a soft giggle. Tino was laughing at him. How petrifying. He blushed even more, the usual glower of shame shadowing his face as he scooped Tino's tiny marshmallow of a dog into his arms and turned around. He didn't meet Tino's eyes (such a brilliant purple-blue, like blossoming Bachelor Buttons…) and stood dripping with the wet dog cradled in his arms. He put his glasses back on indignantly.

Tino bit his lip. Berwald was looking kind of angry. Tino knew he probably wasn't mad, but he was still somewhat frightened, despite the fact that the man had never laid a finger on him or spoken harshly to him… He was afraid, but at the same time he could hardly keep his eyes above his friend's collarbone—Berwald's rust-colored wife beater was soaked through and clung to his chest and stomach in a very flattering way, rather showing off his well-toned abdomen. His hair hung down in his eyes, and as he pushed it back, dripping, from his forehead, Tino felt his tummy flutter. He forgot to be afraid for just a moment.

They stood awkwardly for awhile. Peter sat under the water staring at them.

Tino licked his lips. "I'm sorry, Ber… I—didn't mean—"

"'S fine." Berwald's voice was gravelly. He still didn't meet Tino's eyes. "This's yer dog." Berwald pressed Hana into Tino's arms. She whined.

Tino frowned at the taller man's gruff tone. He looked down at his feet unhappily. "Y-yes…" He noticed Berwald didn't have on any shoes. He chewed on his lip and said, "I really am sorry, Ber! It's all my fault you got wet…"

"Don't." Berwald grunted. He cleared his throat. "Apologize, I mean."

Tino's eyes popped open at the sharpness in Berwald's voice, and he flinched upon seeing the man's seemingly threatening expression.

"I—" He could feel his eyes starting to itch and took a step back, squeezing Hana-Tamago in one arm, tightening his fingers around the handles of the grocery bag with the other hand.

And upon stepping back he stepped on Hana's leash, and tripped. He landed flat on his ass in the flower bed, half-crushing a tulip, dropping his dog and his groceries.

"ah…" He saw the shocked expression on Berwald's face, and felt himself go scarlet. It was too much. Tino scrambled to his feet as the tears—having built up with his bad mood all day—finally forced their way from the confines of his eyes, and he bolted. Hana-Tamago ran after him with a concerned yip.

Berwald scowled at the ground. He could just kick himself. He always ruined everything with his damned glaring and curt way of speaking. He growled angrily at himself, and crouched down, grabbing Tino's abandoned groceries and snapping the tulip's stem so he could put it in a cup. (The crumpled petals were purple and blue like Tino's eyes, with a warm golden center, which made him feel a little better.) He straightened up and made his way inside.

Peter followed him, shedding water on the kitchen floor as he asked, "Papa how come Mr. Vineyman was sad?"

Berwald shoved the perishable groceries—a pre-packaged salad and some coffee ice cream- into the refrigerator and the freezer and set the rest—crackers and dog treats—on the counter. He sighed, mumbling a quiet, "Dunno." to the little boy as he filled a cream-colored vase with water and stuck the crooked tulip in, straightening the crumpled petals. He pulled a chair from the kitchen table and sat with a grunt, leaning his head back. He could feel a migraine coming on.

"Papa…" Peter climbed into his lap, adding dampness to dampness. "Papa why are _you_ sad?" He touched his adoptive-father's cheeks with an innocent expression of concern, tiny fingertips soft and comforting.

Berwald wrapped his arms around his son with a small strangled sigh, and buried his face in his damp hair. "Not sad." But Peter knew he was lying.

Tino lay face-down on his pillow, with Hana-Tamago curled up on his back. His head pounded. He shivered a little—the air-conditioning was on high and his capris were soaking in the bathroom sink. He wished he could just throw them in the wash, but they were linen or something. So he lay on his face, wearing nothing but a tanktop and dark blue briefs, moping with a dog on his spine. He sighed tragically. He wished it were possible to punch oneself.

Hana-Tamago licked his ear. He shuddered and shouldered her away, just as the phone rang. He froze. Slowly, as it rang and rang, he stood and made his way over to the phone. Checked the caller ID. It read, "Oxenstierna B." He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then opened them with a pouty huff and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Uh. Hi… 'S Berwald." The Swede's voice sounded unsteady, but maybe that was just due to poor reception.

Tino cleared his throat. "I—um. Hello. What… do you need?"

There was a long pause. Finally, when Tino was beginning to wonder if Berwald had hung up, the man muttered, "Left yer groceries."

Tino sighed, rubbing his temple. "Sorry…"

"'S alright."

They were silent for a long time. It was awkward.

"Tino?"

"Y-Yes?" Tino gnawed on his lip.

"Want me to bring 'em over?"

"What?" Tino was confused. He'd forgotten what they'd been talking about, during the silence.

"Groceries." Berwald sounded like he was smiling. At least, Tino hoped he was smiling.

Tino blinked. "Oh! Yes, please. That would be wonderful." He bit his lip, unable to hold back a tiny grin. (Not that anyone but the dog could see it.)

"Bye." The phone clicked, quite sudden.

Tino put down the receiver. He threw himself onto his bed with a quiet laugh. "He's not angry!" He rolled onto his back. "Oh, thank God he's not angry I left my food!" Tino's head no longer pounded.

Hana-Tamago leapt onto his pillow, tilting her head with a curious whine, eyes wide.

Tino raised his eyebrows. "Don't look at me like that Hana!" He crossed his arms, faking irritation with a soft blush across his face. "He's very handsome after all!"

Berwald rang the doorbell, letting Peter slip to the ground. The boy grabbed onto his pinky, and Berwald smiled just as the door opened. He started and blushed, looking down at Tino, who was looking at the doorframe. Quietly, Tino said, "Sorry for being such a bother." He was chewing on his lip again.

Berwald stared at Tino's mouth. (It looked so soft.) He tried to speak, but nothing came out, so he cleared his throat. Then, "'S fine." He ran a hand through his hair. "Not your fault. Shoulda… I shoulda been less scary…" Berwald frowned, twisting his mouth.

Tino looked up, his eyelashes catching light from the sunset. "Ah—you—You can't help it, though! I mean—it's not that it's scary—I just worry that sometimes maybe you're angry with me so I get all frightened 'cause I really value our friendship and I don't want you to hate me—and… Yeah. You're… nice." Tino looked down at his feet, fidgeting, twisting the fabric of his tanktop between his fingers.

Berwald opened his mouth to reply, but Peter cut him off.

"You talk fast Mr. Vineyman."

Tino's eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at Peter, and covered his mouth, holding back a laugh. "Mr… _Vineyman_…?" He was grinning wide behind his fingers. He said, "_Do_ I talk fast?"

"Yeah!" Peter exclaimed. "Like that crazy person on the corner downtown!"

Berwald slapped the back of the Peter's head lightly as Tino started giggling. "Don't be rude, Peter." He glowered at his embarrassing son, who only smiled.

"Papa I made him happy for you!" Peter beamed and beamed like a little ray of sunshine.

Berwald covered his mouth with a fist, going crimson as he looked away pointedly. Tino's laughter died away, and he smiled up at the tall Swedish man standing in his doorway. Berwald's face was frightening sometimes, but his eyes were gentle and his cheeks were the most adorable shade of pinkish-red.

Tino smiled shyly.

"Berwald?" He licked his lips.

Berwald grunted in acknowledgement, not looking toward him.

"Do you wanna stay for dinner? I'm making chilled cucumber soup." He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Berwald glanced at Tino, then looked away again, his face growing redder by the second. Tino's expression was so cute and sweet. Berwald thought he might explode if he looked any longer (He attributed the feeling to a mixture of sexual tension, happiness, and fear-induced nausea.) so he focused his attention on Peter's feet. He clicked his teeth together nervously and finally mumbled an embarrassed "Sounds fine."

Tino grinned ear-to-ear and grabbed Berwald's hand, dragging him inside. At Tino's touch—the brush of his soft fingertips on Berwald's palm—he felt his entire body grow warmer. He focused on not melting, and let Tino steer him to a chair in his small living room/dining room. Peter climbed onto his lap and snuggled against him.

"Are you still sad, Papa?" Peter looked up at him with big blue eyes as Tino busied himself in the tiny kitchen, with Hana getting in his way as best she could.

Berwald smiled at Peter, feeling himself become calmer, cooler. "'M not sad." He kissed Peter's nose lightly. Peter smiled up at his Papa cheerily.

"Good!"

The meal was slightly awkward. It was hard to start a conversation at first, because Berwald was such an introverted and shy man. But once Peter started on about his neighbor friend (who he called Ice), the atmosphere was much more easy-going. Berwald began to relax a little, and smiled with more ease.

Tino made sure to smile at him often, too, so Berwald knew he wasn't afraid of him or anything. It was very easy to smile at him. All Tino had to do was meet Berwald's brilliant turquoise-colored eyes, and he'd be off in a fit of silly grins and blushing. (Perhaps this said something about their relationship.) He hoped Berwald didn't notice that aspect, and continued to listen to Peter go on and on about how cool "Ice" was. (He was all the way in high school!)

And eventually Tino found himself opening up a little, and talking about his childhood and about how thankful he was that Berwald helped him get away from Ivan, and about how he wanted a house with a garden like they had. He felt extremely relaxed for the first time in a long time (since the first month he was free from his ex) and Berwald's eyes were kind and curious.

Peter let out a big yawn as his Papa hoisted him up in his arms. He nuzzled his Papa's chest snugly, and Berwald smiled minutely down at him.

Tino grinned at how fatherly and nice Berwald was, and saw them out the door a little sadly. Berwald bowed his head as he left, with one of those rare small smiles directed toward Tino. Tino's chest fluttered and he gave half an uncertain laugh, waggling his fingers in farewell. The door clicked deafeningly, and Tino's apartment felt rather barren without the tall blonde and his energetic son. Tino sighed and made his way slowly to his bedroom with Hana licking at his heels. He went through the routine of changing and brushing his teeth and finally slid into bed with the fan pointed at his pillow and the window open a crack.

Hana-Tamago climbed into the bed, curling up beside Tino's head and nuzzling his hair lovingly. He smiled at her and turned off the lamp.

There were a few days where Tino didn't see Berwald again, but then the weekend came once more, and he was walking home from the fish market with a filet of cod wrapped up in a bag.

It felt as if it might be even hotter than before, if that were possible. Tino was actually wearing his swim trunks instead of shorts, and a sheer white tanktop. He could feel his shoulders and nose beginning to burn. Scalp too. He glared up at the sun, shading his eyes, and heard his name shouted. Or something similar.

"Mister Vine-my-nanen!"

He looked down just in time to be headbutted in the stomach by a five year old. He laughed, and patted Peter on the head, as the little boy circled his scrawny arms around Tino's hips, grinning up at him.

Tino crouched down and lifted Peter up in his arms, letting his bag of fish dangle from his elbow, and headed toward Berwald, who was standing at the gate waiting. He frowned at Peter sternly, extricating him from Tino's arms and mumbling,

"Shouldn't run into people like tha'…"

Peter pretended shame, then kissed his Papa on the cheek and leapt to the ground, running into the yard.

Within seconds the sprinkler was on full blast.

Berwald rubbed the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. Sometimes he just couldn't deal with Peter's abundant energy—especially not in this kind of heat. He leaned on the fence. Said, "Sorry 'bout him. Jes hyper."

Tino smiled. "That's alright." He licked his dry lips. "Um. Could I bother you for a drink? And maybe put this fish in your fridge?" He pursed his lips shyly, an apologetic look on his face.

Berwald managed half of a grimace-like smile and nodded, turning toward the house and the sound of Peter's excited—if wet—shouts.

Inside the house it was nice and cool. The A/C was blowing slightly chilled air through the rooms, bringing them to a pleasant temperature. Tino sighed with relief and sat at the carved wooden table in the kitchen. He closed his eyes as his tall friend stuck the cod in the refrigerator.

"Got some Thai iced coffee. Fresh jug." Berwald murmured. Tino's eyes fluttered open. Berwald's eyes caught his and he blushed, smiling. "That sounds nice. Maybe a small glass…" He let his eyes droop a little bit shut again and calmly watched Berwald go about pouring his drink into a stout little glass cup. It looked creamy and wonderful.

Tino sipped it with his eyes almost closed. He smiled. "Thanks, Ber." The glass was nice and cold on his palms. He curled his toes happily.

Berwald felt calm just looking at Tino. He sipped from his own glass, sitting down across from Tino.

Just then they heard the pitter-patter of tiny wet feet, and Peter slammed into Berwald's lap, drawing a grunt from the big man. He sniffled loudly, and Berwald put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Peter blubbered into his Papa's chest. "B-big doggy smiled mean at me!" He balled his teeny little hands into fists, pulling at Berwald's shirt.

Berwald sighed, rolling his eyes. "Not gon' eat ya."

Peter continued to bawl unintelligibly.

Tino raised an eyebrow. (Berwald's heart skipped a beat.) He asked, "What's this big doggy?"

Berwald smiled, patting his son on the back gently. "Ludwig's Rottweiler." He shook his head, amused. "Thinks it's gonna eat 'im."

Tino couldn't help but laugh, and covered his mouth in an attempt to stifle his tittering. He looked softly at Peter, who only said,

"Scary…"

Tino reached across the table and gave the boy a pat on the head, sipping at his coffee. "He's not going to eat you Peter. He doesn't eat people!" He licked his lips. (Berwald wondered if they tasted like iced coffee.)

Peter sniveled at him.

Berwald rubbed his boy's back. "Tino's right, Peter." He kissed Peter's forehead, which was clammy and wet from the sprinkler. Peter suddenly grinned widely, wiping his eyes, and ran back outside to continue where he had left off. Tino laughed.

"Such a sweet boy." He drained the rest of his coffee.

Berwald grunted in a way that clearly meant "Yup." His eyes were locked on Tino's round face.

Tino looked up at him and met his gaze—intense and aquamarine and affectionate. His smile wavered. He suddenly felt shy, and his stomach was feeling wobbly again. His face felt warm and he couldn't help but be a little tense. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. Anything to cut through the awkward quiet. Berwald's silent stare made him want to look away, but he couldn't. He licked his lips nervously.

Finally, he gathered up some courage. "B- Ber." Tino's eyelids fluttered, and he looked down at his bare knees. "I just… I know I mentioned it the other day, but I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me in the past two years—for helping me get away from that… man. I—I don't know what I'd do without you and you're the nicest person I've ever met…" He bit his lip. "And…" He looked up from under his eyelashes, then stood with a clatter. He walked around the table, put his hands on Berwald's broad shoulders, and kissed him.

Berwald's eye flew open wide, and his hands shook a little. His face went scarlet. Tino's lips were softer than he'd expected, but they _did _taste like coffee, as he'd expected.

The kiss was gentle, but also firm—Tino was shy sometimes, but never timid. Not with Berwald. He knew he was Berwald's equal and treated him as such.

Berwald stared at Tino in shock, as he pulled back and stood up straight, avoiding his eyes and blushing pink. He had a tiny smile on his lips.

Berwald blinked a few times. He put a hand to his mouth, as if to make sure it even existed. Had he really been kissed? Why yes… He could almost feel it, still. He cleared his throat. "Ti—Tino…" He frowned and stood.

Tino sort of looked at him, embarrassed.

Berwald smiled crookedly, as if he was terribly out of practice. "Thank you." He put his hands—palms flat—on Tino's hips and returned his kiss stiffly.

It was a long time before they separated, and Tino's arms snaked around Berwald's shoulder and Berwald closed his eyes because he was too embarrassed. It remained a very innocent kiss.

And then, "COOTIES! EW!"

Berwald's eyes flew open and he stood faster than a gunshot, almost overturning a chair. He stared at the floor as his entire body caught fire with mortification. His face must have been the color of a firetruck.

Tino looked away too, pink and smiling.

Peter stuck his tongue out and only said, "Bleeeeeeeh!" and then, "Papa, Mr. Milkman is here! He wants your money!"

Berwald gladly used the milkman as an excuse to leave the room, and hurried to the front door.

Peter leveled his eyes on Tino, who looked out the small kitchen window, hiding a grin behind his hand, toying with the strings on his trunks.

The little boy shook his head in disbelief. "Grown-ups are crazy. Mr. Vainymaineen, how come you a… adults… like to kiss each other, huh? And I thought only married people kiss so does that mean your Papa's wife now?"

"Huh?" Tino blinked. "W-wife?" He opened his mouth, and closed it, gaping like a fish. "Now hang on! I'm a man! And we're not married!" He frowned with embarrassment.

Peter ran toward the front of the house, chanting, "Papa's got a wife! Papa's got a wife! Mr. Vineyman is my new Mama!"

Tino pursued him closely.

The kid leapt off the porch, past the milkman, who smiled at Tino. Tino said, "Hi Gilbert!" and chased Peter through the sprinkler, crying, "I'm not his wife!"

Peter only laughed.

On the porch Berwald went red, and Gilbert the milkman chuckled and gave his shoulder a congratulatory slap.

Berwald would have to explain tact and discretion to Peter later… He smiled wordlessly. (Scared the shit out of the milkman.)

/end

(A/N My favorite line: "This is your dog."/"This's yer dog.")


	3. Christmas

A/N: Just something gentle and domestic. Didn't feel like dealing with confessions or angst, so it's post-relationship. Also. I use the word "fairy-lights" at some point. I am not British, I am American. I just watch a lot of Peppa Pig with my little brother, and too much Sherlock, and sometimes I spell "grey" funny. "Gray." "Grey." Anyhow. Yes. Enjoy. It's sweet. I hope.

Berwald paused for a rest, panting a bit and letting the rope drop to the snow. The other end, he left hooked about the little fir tree, wound through the branches. He stretched, reaching his arms up into the sky. He craned his head back with a soft sigh, gazing at the cold blue sky skidded across with white clouds. As his breathing grew more steady he turned back to observe the tree, a hand on his hip. He sighed, glancing over his shoulder. It was just a bit farther—he was actually at the front gate already. So he flipped up the latch and propped it open with an icy rock.

He pulled the rope back over his shoulder and dragged the tree to the front door, leaving a needled path through the snow. Jiggled the knob and kicked the door open awkwardly. Luckily the tree wasn't especially large, so he could maneuver it through the door with some semblance of ease.

He continued to drag it to where it needed to be, until it was finally propped up against the wall near the window in the sitting room.

Berwald brushed his hands off, letting himself fall into his favorite chair—big and dark blue and overstuffed. He sighed. He'd have to vacuum soon, or Tino would have a hernia when he got home—the floor was carpeted with fragrant green needles. But for now… he could rest…

Berwald woke to the sound of the vacuum cleaner. He blinked groggily, straightening his glasses and looking toward the loud sound that had disturbed his sleep.

He saw Tino, vacuuming the carpet in a baby blue cable knit sweater and skinny grey jeans that were just tight enough to show off his well-padded thighs. (Not that he was overweight or anything—just… the small amount of extra weight he had was focused around his hips and thighs… He filled out his clothes nicely.)

Berwald's expression softened. He felt a bit bad that Tino was cleaning up after him.

"Tino." The sturdy blonde man didn't hear him. He raised his voice, "Tino."

Tino jumped, and looked over her shoulder, startled. He switched off the machine and gave his housemate a gentle smile. "Ber,"

Berwald returned his smile stiffly, still finding the expression to be strange and unfamiliar on his own face, and hoped he didn't look too threatening. Tino suddenly looked as if he had just remembered something and approached Berwald delightedly. "Ber, thanks so much!" He threw himself at his bear of a husband, almost knocking Berwald's glasses off his face as he hugged him.

"Huh?" Berwald wrinkled his eyebrows.

"The tree!" Tino laughed, his pretty purple eyes twinkling eagerly. "It's perfect!"

Realization cleared Berwald's face and he blushed, nuzzling Tino bashfully. "'S no problem…" He held onto Tino, careful not to squeeze too hard.

Tino grinned and kissed Berwald's cheek, and tilted his man's face up to meet his eyes. "It must've been heavy, though…" His cheeks were a tad pink, his smile small, his lashes drooping. Berwald noticed those unconscious signals and his face grew scarlet. Tino probably didn't realize it himself, but it was obvious he wanted a kiss—the way his head was tilted and the way his lips were parted… Berwald had seen this expression before and could immediately recognize it for what it was.

It was absolutely adorable and extremely tempting.

Berwald licked his lips nervously, suddenly shy. Then, "Tino."

Tino watched him intently. "Yes, Ber?"

"Uh… Peter'll be home soon…"

Tino started. He realized the awkward position he was in— straddling Berwald in an armchair by the fireplace, with Berwald's hands planted on his hips, their faces mere centimeters apart.

He blushed crimson and clambered off his husband's lap, stuttering half an apology.

Berwald sighed. He'd ruined a nice moment by bringing up Peter. He'd just felt so shy and unsure of himself. "…'M gonna put up the tree…" he mumbled.

"Good idea…!" Tino bit his lip, twisting the hem of his sweater between his hands awkwardly. He looked disappointed and embarrassed. With a little sigh, he turned away from Berwald and put a small log on the fire to keep it going, and glanced at the clock as Berwald fastened the tree into its stand.

It was almost four. Peter would be home any second.

As if Tino's thoughts were a cue, he heard the hiss, rumble and squeak of the bus outside, the slam of the front door, and the thud of little footsteps as Berwald's boy shouted, "I'm home!"

He was about to burst into the sitting room, but before he could Tino grabbed him under the armpits and lifted him up, returning to the hallway. He looked sternly at the boy and said, "Off with your shoes. I just vacuumed!"

The boy rolled his eyes cheekily, crouching down with a grumble to remove his boots.

The second his shoes were off he bolted past Tino, nearly unbalancing him and crying, "Papa!"

Tino could hear Berwald's grunt as Peter slammed into him. He smiled softly to himself and returned to the sitting room. He ruffled Peter's hair and gave his husband a peck on the cheek, standing on tiptoe to do so, and murmured, "I'll go make something sweet."

Berwald grunted at him in the affirmative and Tino made his way to the kitchen, leaving Peter and Berwald to finish putting together the tree, with Hana-Tamago—who had just woken from her nap beside the fire—yipping around their feet.

Berwald shooed the little dog away, making certain that the tree was indeed secure, then backed away, giving it a long look up and down. It looked pretty good, silhouetted by the window. He gave a satisfied smirk and sat in his chair, letting out a huff of air as both his son and his dog barreled noisily into his lap.

"Careful," he warned Peter.

Peter said, "Sorry Papa!" without seeming apologetic at all.

Berwald rolled his eyes and gathered them close in his arms contentedly.

By the time Tino returned to the sitting room, with a plate of hot thumbprint cookies, all three had fallen asleep—no. Berwald opened his eyes upon Tino's approach, hearing Tino's quiet footsteps across the carpet. Peter and Hana, however, really were asleep.

Tino smiled at Berwald's gently appreciative expression, whispering, "How sweet…" He set the platter of cookies down on the coffee table and sat on the arm of Berwald's chair, leaning against him quietly. Berwald took his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

He mumbled, "love you…"

Tino gave him a teeny kiss on the top of his head, then ruffled his short whitish hair and stood. "We should decorate the tree so Peter has something beautiful to wake up to."

The tall Swede nodded and stood, carefully cradling Peter in his arms. He set the boy on the couch and followed Tino to get the ornaments.

When Peter woke up the fire had died down and the room was aglow with fairy lights of blue and purple and white strung across the ceiling in a web. The tree glittered with tinsel and glass balls and a sparkly star, all wrapped round with pale green lights. He clapped his hands ecstatically and noticed the one thing missing.

"Papa, Papa!" He leapt off the couch, grabbing Berwald—who was sitting in his chair reading—eagerly. "I wanna put on the candy canes!" He absolutely bubbled with excitement.

"After dinner," Berwald rumbled, with a low chuckle.

Peter looked disappointed. But then he perked up. The smell wafting from the kitchen was delightful. He hurried to the source of the scent, curious as to what his Papa's wife was cooking.

Tino turned with a smile at the sound of little feet pattering across the tiling. He looked down at the boy who tugged his apron strings and said, "Good evening, Peter. You had a nice nap, hm?"

Peter nodded.

"Are you hungry?"

Peter nodded even more energetically, wide-eyed and questioning.

"Great." Tino's grin widened. "I made some lohiketto,(1) and afterwards there are cookies." He mussed Peter's hair.

Peter cheered and scrambled to his seat, plopping down just as Berwald entered the kitchen with a stretch (having dawdled to finish the page he was on), brushing his fingers against the low ceiling. As Tino placed their dishes on the table, Berwald wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing the back of his neck.

Tino swatted at him, stifling a giggle. "Knock it off, Ber! That tickles!" He blushed. Berwald squeezed him lovingly, pinching some of Tino's extra chub and eliciting a squeak, and sat down in his spot beside Tino.

Peter just looked at them and stated, "Kissing is gross."

Tino laughed, covering his mouth.

After dinner Tino sat sipping coffee in Berwald's lap as Peter pranced about on his tippy-toes hooking striped candy canes on the branches of the tree, with one in his mouth.

Tino rummaged in the sweets dish on the coffee table, leaning a bit forward to do so, and popped a piece of salty salmiakki (2) into his mouth, resting his head against Berwald's chest as he set down his coffee on the little side table. He hummed happily to himself. Hana-Tamago jumped up into his lap, and he scratched behind her ears.

Berwald chuckled to himself softly. It was obvious that a child had hung some of the décor on the tree, because the swath of pinstriped candy and strung popcorn stopped abruptly about five feet up. That left a foot of candy-free tree. He stooped down and took about a dozen canes from the base of the tree, as well as a string of popcorn and cranberries—they didn't need Hana to eat it all and get ill, after all—and transferred them to some higher areas of the tree. He straightened the star, turned out all the lights, made sure the fire was completely dead, and headed to the bedroom to wait for Tino, who was putting Peter to bed. The dog was asleep in his chair.

After maybe ten minutes, Tino walked into their bedroom, closing the door carefully behind him so as not to make too much noise. He began to change into his pajamas—a set of blue-grey flannel that was just a little too large on him—and then padded into the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the toilet.

Berwald lay back against his pillow and set his glasses on the nightstand. He closed his eyes with a tired sigh to wait for his pretty young man.

The bed springs creaked and Berwald opened his eyes as Tino crawled into his arms, pulling the blankets up behind him and over their legs like a cloak. He smiled up at Berwald.

"Feet're cold…" Berwald grumbled, pressing his face into Tino's neck lovingly.

Tino suppressed a shiver. "And your _nose_ is cold, so we're even." He kissed Berwald's ear, and shifted around to lay more comfortably in his husband's arms. Soon they were both pretty warm, and as Berwald reached to turn off the light he grunted,

"Love ya."

Tino smiled quietly to himself. "I love you too, Ber. Good night." He laid his head on Berwald's chest.

"Night."

The next few days leading up to Christmas were rather hectic—Peter had off from school, so Berwald entertained him at home while Tino did the last of the Christmas shopping.

Berwald sat on his and Tino's bed Christmas Eve surrounded by slips and swaths and rolls of wrapping paper, wielding a pair of safety scissors in one hand, trapping presents in their shiny, wintery paper. Through the door he could hear Tino and Peter giggling, and Hana-Tamago yipping excitedly. Must've been the laser pointer. He smiled. His little family, so rowdy and sweet… He was as happy as he'd ever been, with them. Happier. Spending his life in this house with these people… was something he greatly looked forward to. Was all he could ever need.

He finished with his gift-wrapping shortly, and made his way quietly to the sitting room, arms laden with six colorful boxes—four for his baby and two for his wife.

"Presents!" Peter nearly knocked Berwald off his feet, but the tall man steadied himself and patted the boy on the head tenderly.

Smilingly, Tino pulled their little boy out of the way so Berwald could organize the gifts under the tree. He noticed a few boxes already there, with the marks of a child's handiwork, labeled "To PaPa from Petr and Teeno. 3 " He couldn't help but smile, then straightened up.

"Now," Berwald stretched, hands reaching higher than the tree, and sat in his chair, taking a cookie. (Tino had made more during lunchtime.) "Time for gifts, yes? But only half." He smiled as Peter eagerly tried to decide which ones he would open. He had the four of them, so half should be easy. But of course, each box could contain any manner of exciting things!

Tino said, "Peter, why don't you pick the two little ones, and save the big ones for morning?"

(Most of the families in the region opened all of their presents on the Eve, but Tino and Berwald had found that splitting them up was a great way to get Peter to behave for a little while longer.)

"Okay!" Peter grabbed two flat little packages all glittery and red, and jumped up onto his Papa's lap.

Berwald had made sure to wrap them loosely, with only a little bit of tape, so they popped open without too much struggling from the child on his lap.

Peter was wide-eyed and delighted with his two little board books—one about witches in Lapland and one from America about boats. He flipped through them eagerly, bouncing up and down in his Papa's lap. Berwald plopped Peter onto the floor to let his thighs regain their circulation and to protect his nether regions from any damage the kid's bony butt could do.

He eyed the tree. Two gifts for him, two for Tino. One of each was from Peter, clumsily wrapped and impossible to guess at from the shape.

He smiled.

Tino was being tackled into submission by Peter, who desperately wanted him to open his present. Tino finally obliged, and struggled through the layers of paper and tape Peter had used to eventually uncover a little shriveled up apple slice encrusted with sparkles and cinnamon, with a hole punched in it, looped through with a thin red ribbon. Tino smiled.

"I'll treasure it forever." He kissed Peter's forehead. Peter stuck his tongue out, wiping his sleeve against his face to clean off the "cooties," then pounced on Berwald with _his _gift in hand.

"Papa, Papa!" He pushed the present into Berwald's hands with a huge grin plastered across his face. Berwald took the small box and tore it clear of its paper and smiled minutely after removing the lid from the box.

It was a little rag doll with macaroni sewn to its head for hair, and buttons sewn on for eyes. Obviously Peter hadn't done all of the work—the stitches were too neat—but he'd done most of it. Berwald looked at Tino, who had sat on the arm of his chair, and took his hand, pressing a light kiss to his wife's knuckles. Tino smiled at him, red-faced from embarrassment. "Ber.. Don't look at me with those silly eyes…"

Berwald raised his eyebrows and turned to his son to say, "Thanks Peter. I love it." He patted his son's head.

Tino ruffled Berwald's short hair teasingly, leaning into him. "You look scary, but you sure are a softy, Ber." He smiled sweetly.

Berwald blushed, and grunted something noncommittally affirmative.

Tino laughed at him.

Berwald smiled. He was so happy to hear that laugh. It reminded him that he had friends, and people who cared about him. Tino was no longer afraid of him, and could smile with so much ease. Tino had grown so much happier, too. His palms were softening, his face was smoothed out, he had put on a small amount of weight, he laughed and grinned and teased, and he was completely relaxed around Berwald and his friends. No longer jumpy—around strangers or otherwise. No longer fearing the wrath of his old boss. His ex.

Berwald pulled Tino into his lap roughly, wrapping his arms tightly around his slightly plump little wife, kissing the top of his head. "…love you Tino… I love you."

Tino turned a delicious shade of pink, stammering unintelligibly. He averted his pretty amethyst eyes, hiding them under long lashes. Then smiled shyly up at Berwald, wrapping his arms around his neck lovingly.

Peter, disgusted, turned to play with the dog while his Papa and his Papa's wife snuggled and tickled and laughed in Papa's chair. Grown-ups were so gross, he'd decided. Always kissing and hugging and all that icky stuff. Bleagh! He just didn't understand the appeal of slobbering on someone. Gross!

Next morning it was Christmas Day and Peter finally got to open his other two presents—a toy dump truck and a dolly with a removable diaper. He was delighted!

Tino's gift from Papa was a tiny, tiny crow carved from wood, with exquisite details. Tino kissed Papa happily and he was crying but Peter didn't know why. Tino said they were happy tears and that the bird was significant to his culture. They kissed some more and Peter rolled his eyes, petting the dog. Then Papa opened his gift from Tino. He looked at it and looked happy, though a lot of people would have thought he looked angry, but Peter knew by the way his mouth twisted and the way his eyes got dark that he was very happy.

It was a pretty watercolor of the mountains, with a big bear in the front, rolling in the snow.

Tino said it wasn't very good, but Papa and Peter both thought it was amazing.

They had a yummy Christmas dinner that afternoon, with the whole Christmas table set up, and Peter got to have some of his very own coffee. It was very exciting and he was very tired at the end of the day.

Later, after Peter was tucked away snugly in his bed, Tino and Berwald held each other close. Tino's face was red from laughing—his Bear had decided it would be fun to tickle him until his entire face was the color of a ripe tomato. Berwald smiled quietly at him, and Tino huffed, trying not to smile back. But he couldn't help it, and grinned. "You're evil, Ber, you know that?"

Berwald grunted, rolling on top of Tino with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. His fingers wandered in a less playful manner than before, and he stroked his thumb across Tino's jaw line, giving him a wordless kiss as he smoothed Tino's flax-colored hair back from his forehead. Tino twined his arms about Berwald's wiry waist and returned his kiss with twice the passion, letting his eyes drift half-closed. The look in his eyes was dreamy and distracted and desirous and made Berwald blush. Tino pulled away briefly to say, "Your eyes are a pretty shade of green…" and pressed their lips together once again.

Berwald's stomach fluttered shyly all the way up through his throat like butterflies as he ran his hands through Tino's hair. He liked to touch Tino's hair because it was soft, and he knew Tino liked it when he touched his hair, and massaged his scalp—it was relaxing and comforting.

Tino made a small noise in his throat. Berwald broke their kiss and sat up, and slipped his shirt over his head, and pulled Tino's shirt off before the young man could do it himself. Tino blushed, looking to the side.

Berwald had very nice abs.

Berwald ran his fingers reverently down Tino's sides, feeling the smoothness and softness of his skin. He kissed him gently all over, covering Tino with his love, and further undressing him with both his hands and his eyes. After some awkward maneuvering all of their clothing was on the floor or at the foot of the bed, and Berwald was kissing Tino needily.

This… The fact that he could do _this_ with Tino—touch him and kiss him and hold him and love him—made Berwald so, so happy. Tino squirming redly beneath him made Berwald's heart skip a beat in disbelief and happiness. A year or two ago he'd never have thought he would be allowed to hold Tino in this intimate way. If someone had told him he'd one day marry the boy he jokingly (longingly) called "Wife," he would have punched them in the face and gone off to hide.

But now… He really could have Tino. Tino saw him as more than a friend and more than a frightening stranger. When Tino had asked him out, Berwald had just about had a heart attack, and cried because he was so happy…

Berwald kissed and kissed and kissed Tino—every inch of his body.

Tino sighed and hummed and whined quietly, closing his eyes and crinkling his eyebrows.

Sweet, tender kisses and caresses. Tino curved against Berwald's touches, savoring the brush of his rough fingertips on his skin. He barely noticed when Berwald's lips were on his lips (instead of his thighs or his collarbone or his stomach) and only moaned quietly against Berwald's mouth.

He was too distracted to tell if Berwald used a condom or not—could only tell that he felt good and he trusted Berwald and assumed he was being safe and that the teeny, tiny deep-throated noises Berwald made were adorable—and only panted and mumbled incoherently through their kisses.

They twined themselves together.

A/N: Wow. Does everything I write have sex? HURR HURR HURR this is my OTP, man.

1: Lohiketto = Creamed salmon soup. I think.

2: Salmiakki = Salted black licorice. Wikipedia it, it's insane. D:


	4. Tino brings home a drawing book

"Ber! Peter!" Tino kicked the snow off his boots at the welcome mat, then put the bag of groceries aside to reach down and undo his laces. "I'm home!" He hung his coat and scarf—both pretty shades of purple and gifts from Berwald. He could hear Peter running down the stairs enthusiastically and Berwald mumbling something after him.

Peter thudded into his arms, asking, "Did you get something yummy?!" with a wide smile. Berwald pulled him off of Tino before Tino fell over beneath his thrashing, and grabbed the grocery bag off the floor, to bring it to the kitchen.

Tino rolled his eyes. "Why don't you go see?" He redirected his attention to Peter, poking the young boy's tummy with a grin. "I'm sure Papa Bear will let you put away the ice cream."

Peter's eyes widened, big and blue like bachelor buttons, and he ran into the kitchen. "Ice cream?!"

Tino laughed. Down to jeans, socks and a sweater—only slightly damp—he followed after the others, to see Peter standing on a chair to put away frozen foods as Berwald handed them off. When they had finished, Berwald sent Peter away with a small bowl full of mint ice cream to play with Hana-Tamago in the living room. He wrapped his arms around Tino with a sigh, resting his chin on top of Tino's head. Tino blushed, a little embarrassed because he'd gained a few pounds and _surely_ Berwald would be able to tell—

"What's that?" Berwald nodded to the table, where the grocery bag lay wilted and empty but for a tattered book sticking out of it.

Tino smiled, disentangling from Berwald's embrace, and picked up the book. He pressed it into Berwald's hands. "It's a drawing book." He'd found it in a used book bin outside of the craft store on the way home. "I thought it would be fun to practice my drawing a little bit, with a guideline." It was mostly anatomy lessons, but had several pages on how to draw expressions and a few background items like chairs and things made of glass.

Berwald flipped the pages. "Dunno. You're already better'n this..." He glanced at Tino, and frowned. "Why're you so red?"

Tino twiddled his fingers, looking down at his feet with a small noise. "I—I'm not that good, really..." His face was pink all the way to his to his ears.

Berwald blushed slightly, too. Tino was too cute... "Ti..." He put the book on the table, looking about for something to break the awkward tension. There! A cookbook lying open on the counter. "D'you wanna make some coffeecake?" He gestured helplessly, face crumpled in that way that scared almost everyone except Antonio and Peter.

Tino scowled a little. "You're trying to make me fat, aren't you?" But he smiled and hugged Berwald tightly.

"Absolutely." Berwald blushed. "Because you're too cute when I can squish yer cheeks."

Tino blinked. "Ah... I... see..." He hurried over to the fridge, hiding his face, to pull out some of the ingredients he would need, while Berwald set about gathering bowls and measuring cups.

Peter snuck in with his dirty bowl and sat at the table to watch them cook together, with Hana in his lap licking his sticky fingers.

/end


End file.
